


I'm The One You Tell Your Fears To

by noos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: But Ann-Kathrin is nice in my fic, But I can't write things that are too sad, Hints of Manu/Thomas, Hints of Mats/Benni, It's kinda angsty, M/M, Mentions of Ann-Kathrin, Various other Dortmund and Bayern players make appearances, and sad also, but that's all, i don't even know what this is, so yay happy ending, the explicit rating is mostly because alot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario feels a shiver run through him and he looks at the ground and bites hard on his lip to keep from doing something stupid like calling out to Marco. Just because they got lost in the moment and celebrated Marco's goal together, doesn't mean they're on speaking terms again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm The One You Tell Your Fears To

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I've never written for this fandom before, but I had this idea stuck in my head for the entire international break, and when I finally gave in and put pen to paper, this monstrosity essentially birthed itself. English is still not my first language, so if you spot anything particularly off, don't be afraid to mention it! And yeah, I'm especially nervous about posting this. 
> 
> I don't pretend to know anything about these players or their personal lives, so please treat this piece as it is, a work of fiction.
> 
> Title taken from the Lorde song.

"I hate international break," Mario mutters to himself stepping off the bus, words he'd never thought he'd say when he first completed his move to Munich. 

 

It used to be different. International break meant seeing Marco. It meant at least a week of uninterrupted time with the person he loved most in this world. _Loves_ , Mario corrects himself sadly. Despite everything, he never stopped. Now though, now international break served only as a reminder of what might've been if he hadn't chosen red over yellow.

 

"What was that?" Holger asks, turning slightly to look at him. Mario can see Thomas stop a bit further up front to look at them both.

 

"Nevermind," he mumbles, looking around uncomfortably. 

 

No matter how much he tries to avoid it, his gaze eventually turns to where Marco is standing by the main entrance of the hotel. They're staying for one last night before they head back to their clubs. They just played Georgia, and granted, it wasn't their finest game, but they won and Marco scored his second goal in a row since his official return to international duty. Try as he might, Mario cannot shake the pride he feels knowing that Marco's finding his form again so quickly. He can, however, bury it deep where no one can see it.

 

He wants to kick himself in the face because he's still so attuned to Marco that he doesn't even have to look to know he's there. He does look though, because he's missed being able to do that. André and Benni are laughing around him, but Mario's surprised to find Marco looking as out of place as he himself feels. Their eyes meet for a second, and Mario feels his heart squeeze a little and his lungs ache like there is not enough air in the world to satisfy him. He tears his gaze away from him more out of habit than necessity. He feels a shiver run through him and he looks at the ground and bites hard on his lip to keep from doing something stupid like calling out to Marco. Just because they got lost in the moment and celebrated Marco's goal together, doesn't mean they're on speaking terms again. Marco's proven as much by ignoring him pretty much the entire second half of the game.

 

The funny thing is it didn't happen when he expected it to. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew as he was signing that dotted line that tied his fate to that of the Bavarian club, that he was also signing Marco away. But Marco stuck with him, despite everything. Mario waited a month, two, six, a year for Marco to call and tell him it was over, that the distance was too much, that his betrayal was finally catching up to him. But the call never came. Not when he expected to. It wasn't until that early Tuesday morning, almost an entire six months after Mario lifted Marco's jersey high up in the night sky along with that golden trophy - essentially admitting to what everyone already knew, that Marco was and will always be a part of him - that it came in the form of a text. Five small words that knocked Mario's world off its axis. 

 

_I can't do this anymore._

 

He feels some movement around, startling him out of his thoughts, and he looks up to find Thomas approaching him, an uncharacteristically serious expression marring his boyish features.

 

"Are you okay, man?" He asks, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing a little. Mario feels warmth seeping into him where Thomas' hand rests on his shoulder, and the shock of it sends another shiver through his otherwise frozen body. "You look a little pale."

 

Mario nods jerkily, his clammy hands wrapped tightly around his carryon, and he thinks his knees might give if it weren't for Thomas' hand holding him together. He's never been more grateful for his friend than this moment right there. He looks up to find Thomas looking towards where Marco is standing for a second before turning back to him, and he realizes Thomas probably knows a lot more than he lets on.

 

"Hey Holger," he hears Thomas say a little louder. "Tell Manu I'll meet him at our room later," he continues and Mario wants to protest that he doesn't need to be chaperoned. He holds his tongue, however, when he feels another shiver run through him. He manages a breath in to steady himself a little more, and is relieved to find the air travels a little easier into his lungs this time around.

 

Thomas starts walking towards the lobby, his arm casually sprawled across Mario's shoulder, inadvertently steering the shorter man along with him. Mario walks along, steps a little clumsy at first before he manages to pull himself up higher on his feet. He sneaks another look towards Marco as he passes him on his way in, and what he sees is a little more in line with his expectation this time; Mats has now joined them, and Marco is laughing loudly, one of his hands covering his mouth - something Marco always did and Mario always hated, because he loved seeing Marco's smile more than he did a lot of things -, his eyes bright and happy even in the dim light provided by the hotel sign.

 

Mario feels his throat close up at the sight, hurt and relief battling for dominance, making him dizzy and frustrated. He manages to make it inside the lobby before he feels a tear escape his lashes. He's quick to lower his head and jog towards the nearest elevator, blissfully empty and waiting for him. He presses the button to his floor - 11, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony - before he can think about it, and Thomas barely makes it before the doors close in on them.

 

He allows himself a moment of weakness in front of Thomas, wiping away the traitorous tear before leaning his head back against the wall. 

 

He used to laugh at people when they talked about missing someone so much that it hurt. _Missing someone doesn't hurt_ , he'd argue _. It sucks, and you feel all wrong for a while, but then your body adapts and you go back to how you used to be_. Right?

 

 _Wrong_ , his mind supplies, and if the voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Marco, no one has to know.

 

Mario's never been one for dramatics, but the emptiness he feels, the loneliness, the ache in his heart, like a piece of it's been forcibly removed and cannot seem to mend no matter how much time passes. It hurts. Physically, wholly, permanently. It seems to get worse whenever he's near Marco, the ache in his chest almost disabling him entirely, numbing his senses in the most horrible ways imaginable.

 

"It gets easier," Thomas whispers and Mario startles phenomenally, having forgotten where he was and who with. He's even more surprised that Thomas seems to be reading his mind.

 

He looks up at the tall forward again, and for the first time he notices how weary he looks. He's heard a few things in the past about Thomas and Miro, some about him and Gomez as well, but he's never paid close attention to that. Manu's in the picture now, he knows, and he doesn't think he can imagine Thomas looking at anyone the way he looks at the keeper.

 

"Does it?" He manages to get out as the elevator stops at his floor, and his hoarse voice sounds foreign to his own ears.

 

He doesn't see how it can get easier. Not unless he wakes up one day with no recollection of Marco. He's not sure he'd recover even then. 

 

"It does," Thomas confirms as they make their way through the lobby and towards the room. 

 

Mario fishes his key card out of his pocket before unlocking the door. He steps into the room, closely followed by Thomas, and he feels his throat close up again at the sight of the Borussia hoodie sprawled carelessly on one of the beds, the only sign that Marco was ever in the room.

 

That was another thing. Bastian, in his newly-appointed-captain glow, thought he'd do his teammates a solid and talked Löw into letting him take care of the sleeping arrangements. He'd happily grouped Mario and Marco together, naively unaware of the newest development in the two's relationship.

 

In his haste to forget about Marco, Mario had not actually told anyone about their breakup aside from Fabian and Felix, the only two he'd verbally made aware of their relationship in the first place. In hindsight, that wasn't his smartest decision, something he'd been made fully aware of when he walked into his hotel room on the first day of international duty, only to find a red-faced Marco yelling at André about how he'd "rather play for Schalke before he sleeps in the same room as Mario again." That hurt a lot more than Mario would ever like to admit, but it served to chase away any illusions Mario might've concocted about an eventual make up with Marco. 

 

The blond had stared at Mario, an unreadable expression on his face, before promptly crossing the room in two strides to get out and shutting the door behind him. André had thrown Mario an apologetic look before following Marco out, and that was the last Mario had seen of either of them in his room. Some of Marco's luggage had remained in the room, probably to keep up appearances in case any of the superiors decided to check on rooming arrangements, the discarded Borussia hoodie included. 

 

Mario can see Thomas' eyes follow his own gaze towards the other bed, and he's grateful once again for his friend when the only thing he does is mutter something about unflattering shades of yellow before making his way over to Mario's bed. 

 

Mario's especially grateful for Thomas when he realizes he's the only one he's got in his corner. Mats and Ilkay had spoken to him only briefly, the former asking him if he was doing alright, with a worried look that clearly let Mario know that he was aware of the breakup. Not that Mario had any doubts about that, after all, Mats was the closest thing Marco had to a brother. Mario had shrugged without really answering, and that was the last he'd heard of the defender, but he'd occasionally spotted him staring at him, an unmistakable look of pity on his face which only served to piss Mario off. 

 

André had come up to him on the evening of the first day, going on about how he didn't want to have to choose sides and they were both his friends. Clearly, that wasn't the case, as Mario had seen André a total of thirty minutes in the past week. The rest of his time, André stuck to Marco like a bee to honey, only leaving his side to answer nature's calls. Thinking about André leaves a bitter taste in Mario's mouth, especially when he remembers that Marco didn't even like him back when Mario first introduced them. 

 

"You should go back to Manu," Mario says, forcing himself out of the dark path his thoughts have taken, as he settles his bag on his bed and starts fishing through his clothes. "I'm just going to change and go to bed," he continues, giving Thomas the most earnest look he can muster. 

 

"I do-"

 

"Please, Thomas," Mario insists before the other boy can object. "I'll be fine, I promise. I just really need some sleep right now."

 

Thomas looks at him like he isn't convinced, his features contorted into a worried look, and Mario hates that he's seen Thomas look more tired in the past ten minutes than he's seen him look in a year.

 

"Alright," he finally agrees, making his way towards the door. "If you need anything though, all you have to do is shout," he continues, looking at him as he unlocks the door. "Or text maybe. Better to keep from pissing the boss off," he jokes good-naturedly, and Mario can't help but smile at him.

 

"I know," he says, and for once he means it. "Thanks, Mülli."

 

Thomas shoots him one last smile before letting himself out and shutting the door behind him.

 

\-----

 

It turns out to be only half a lie. He does end up changing into a comfortable pair of sweats and a cotton shirt, but sleep doesn't come. It's well past midnight and he's been tossing and turning in bed for well over an hour.

 

He rifled through his phone a little when he first got into bed, texting Ann to let her know he was tuning out for the night - because fake girlfriend or not, the girl was the closest thing he had to a best friend these days - and going through Twitter and Google to check out some match reviews. Marco was back and on fire, everyone seemed to agree, and Mario couldn't help the rush of pride that ran through him because he never had any doubts about that. The general consensus about him, though, was that his finest days were over, and he finally tossed the phone onto the bedside table after the third "serves him right for abandoning BVB" comment.

 

He doesn't blame the supporters, though. Not when he still hasn't forgiven himself for walking out on the team that gave him everything. It feels even worse knowing that the team has forgiven him, though, Kloppo enveloping him in a stifling hug every time they meet on opposite sides of the pitch, Roman still ruffling his hair like he's done since Mario was barely 17, Nuri having texted him just yesterday to wish him luck for the qualifier.

 

They've all moved on, a new number 10 emerging slowly through the club ranks, new teammates embarking and strong bonds forming. He tries not to cringe when he remembers Pierre running wildly to the side of the pitch, pulling out a mask and offering one to Marco. Marco, smiling as he adjusts the band on his face, before diving in to hug the man with the bright eyes and open smile. He can't even bring himself to hate Pierre, is the problem.

 

And it's not like he doesn't know that there's nothing going on between Pierre and Marco. The man has a kid, for one thing, and he's clearly in love with his girlfriend. Mario has become something of a master in telling fake and real relationships apart, what with his and Ann's pitiful displays of affection. He really doesn't understand how people can actually believe they're together, but it appeases his manager, and truth be told, he likes hanging out with Ann. And if it gives her the needed media coverage for her to launch her singing career - calling that god awful thing she does singing might be stretching it too far, Mario's told her on several occasions - then so be it.

 

He's been staring at Marco's discarded hoodie for ten minutes now, and he finally gives in and rolls out of bed to grab the garment off the other mattress. He pulls it on before he can think about what he's doing, the yellow material soft against his chest, the bulky black "Borusse!" proud and dark against the colorful shirt. It's hot and stuffy with it on, but it smells so much like Marco that Mario can't help but hug himself as he gets back into bed. He buries his face in the collar, breathing in the memories, and his throat feels tight but his heart hurts a little less, and it takes less than five minutes for his breathing to even out and his soft snores to echo in the dark room.

 

\-----

 

Bang!

 

"Ouch! Fucking hel-"

 

Mario jolts awake, reaching blindly for the light switch somewhere on the wall to his left. "Who's there?" He asks, finally managing to turn the lights on, only to find Marco hunched over in the middle of the room, clutching a socked foot and biting down on his lip with a pained look on his face, muttering a string of colorful curses. 

 

He's out of bed and on his knees in front of Marco before he can think about what he's doing. 

 

"Marco, are you okay?" He lets out in a rush, his mind forming over fifty different scenarios, all involving Marco's more than fragile ankle and another month-long injury break.

 

He reaches for him before he can stop himself, his fingers delicately wrapping themselves around Marco's wrist on top of his foot. The other man flinches at the touch like he's been burned, and Mario flashes him a hurt look before he snaps out of his trance, finally aware of his surroundings. He pulls back and takes a few clumsy steps back, half-falling at the foot of his bed. 

 

"I'm fine," Marco grits through his teeth, rubbing his foot furiously, and Mario wonders how treating a sore foot this way can remotely help. He's smart enough to hold his peace, though. "Are you wearing my shirt?" Marco continues, squinting at Mario while continuing to rub his foot absentmindedly, and the latter feels himself flush an unnatural shade of red. 

 

"This is mine," he shoots back before he can think, a little too defensive even to his own ears.

 

Marco snorts unattractively, leaning back to sit more comfortably on the floor. "Okay, well, first of all, you don't own this in yellow, and also, this one has a hole on its right sleeve near the elbow from where Marcel brushed his cigarette by mistake last week."

 

Mario feels himself flushing a little more, the rush of waking up like this finally catching up to him, and he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to steady himself. He gets up after a minute, pulling off the hoodie and throwing it on Marco's bed, before going back to sit on his own mattress. "What the hell are you doing here at..." he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen. "...4 in the morning?"

 

"I needed some fresh clothes," Marco mutters uncomfortably, pulling himself up the floor and heading towards his open bag. "I usually sneak in here when you're not around, but you all but ran to your room as soon as we got off the bus yesterday," he shrugs as he starts picking out random pieces of clothes out of his bag. A dark pair of jeans. One of his own t-shirts with the monkeys up front. A black leather jacket they got together when they were in London the last time.

 

He's trying too hard to sound casual, Mario knows, but that doesn't stop the hurt from flaring inside his chest, and it feels like some parasite has invaded his organs and started gnawing at them. Even his fingers hurt, for fuck's sake.

 

 _We're doing this right now_ , his mind supplies for him. _Get with program_.

 

"You can't even be in the same room as me?" Mario finally asks, trying to keep his voice from straining, anger seeping through instead. "I'm sure Marcel can allow you a few minutes of forced interactions with your ex."

 

He hates himself for saying that. He hates that he's making himself so vulnerable in front of him.

 

"What does Schmelle have to do with anything?" Marco questions, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

 

"I'm not talking about Schmelle," Mario mumbles before he can stop himself, and a look of recognition finally crosses Marco's features, his eyes widening when he's finally on the same page as Mario.

 

"You actually think I left you for Marcel?" He asks, an incredulous tone to his voice, before letting out a bitter laugh and Mario winces at that. "Marcel has nothing to do with that. I am not with Marcel."

 

"Then why did you leave me?" Mario counters before he can stop himself, anger and desperation taking hold of him, his agitation getting the best of him and forcing him up on his feet.

 

"You fucking left me!" Marco snaps, straightening up entirely and throwing his clothes on the bed.

 

"I did-"

 

"I came to Dortmund for you and you packed your bags and moved to Munich at the first opportunity!" He continues before Mario can get a word in, taking a few steps towards the shorter man.

 

Mario feels himself flush, heat coursing through his body at their proximity, but he's too angry to give into it right now. 

 

"Don't!" He snaps back. It's almost dawn, their teammates are asleep, and their voices are bound to carry through the thin hotel walls, but right now he does not care. "Don't for a fucking second pretend you came to Dortmund for me. Playing for them was your dream since you were big enough to hold a football, so don't throw that back in my face. You did what was best for your career, and so did I."

 

Marco smiles to himself, and it looks so off that Mario's tempted to reach out and wipe it off his face. His eyes look sad somehow, more tired and exhausted than Mario's ever seen them. 

 

"Then what are you standing here shouting at me for?" Marco practically whispers, like he's choking on his words. "You've got your priorities sorted, Sunny, and clearly I am not very high up on the list."

 

Mario feels himself shudder at the nickname, at the hurt in Marco's voice, and all the anger is drained out of him like it never existed, only to be replaced by a crippling desperation. He takes a few unsteady steps towards the blond boy, trying to keep from shaking but failing miserably. They're so close to each other now, he can touch Marco's light stubble if he reaches out.

 

"You're the entire list, Marco," he admits in a low voice, and he's stunned for a second at how true it is. He doesn't need anything but Marco. Not really. "Going back to Bavaria, playing for Munich? That was my dream. You knew that. Hell, I told you barely six hours after we met, because I could not stop telling you things, because I wanted to keep talking to you forever. But I'd give it up. I would tell the world about us, about how Ann and I are not really together, about how I'm in love with a man on an opposing team if it means you'd believe me. I'd put you before anyone any day of the week, but then what good would that do? I'd ruin my already messed up career, and I'd do the same to you. People already fault you for still keeping in touch with Judas, what would happen if they knew you'd been fucking him every opportunity you got?"

 

"I don't care what people think," Marco answers automatically, and Mario doesn't expect anything less.

 

"I know you don't," Mario agrees, nodding his head before lifting it back up to meet Marco's eyes. "I know you don't, but you can't stand one camera around you. Have you stopped to think about what would happen if people knew?" He knows he's making his point when Marco closes his eyes like he's trying to make himself disappear. "They wouldn't leave us to figure it out by ourselves, they'd hound us at every opportunity, we wouldn't be able to go anywhere. Let's not even talk about the clubs' reactions."

 

"Klopp would support us," Marco starts.

 

"Klopp would marry us if we asked him," Mario agrees hurriedly, interrupting Marco. "I don't doubt that. But Klopp is not the club, Marco."

 

"Then I'd leave the club. I'd quit football," Marco argues, and Mario can't help the sad smile that creeps onto his face.

 

Ten minutes ago, they weren't even on speaking terms, and here was Marco suggesting giving up the thing he cares about most in this world. 

 

"No you wouldn't," Mario finally says, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "You love football too much to do anything of the sort."

 

"I would."

 

"I wouldn't let you," Mario interrupts before Marco can get another word in. This is not a discussion they're having. There is not a world in which Mario would allow Marco to give up football for him. Besides, he knows that Marco doesn't really mean it. It's just the heat of the moment. "You'd end up resenting me."

 

Something flashes in Marco's eyes, like some switch's been flipped, and he suddenly takes a couple of steps back like he's just realized where he is. His features harden, the stony look he's been carrying around all week back on his face, and Mario feels his world shift again, knowing the temporary truce between them is coming to an end.

 

"Yeah, well, we don't have to worry about that anymore," Marco mutters and it's all Mario can do to keep it together. 

 

The reminder that they're not actually together anymore hurts more than anything else. He feels his cheeks heat up and the hole in his chest is more prominent than ever, like it's been freshly dug with a pair of sharp scissors.

 

He can barely hold himself together any longer, and he more than hates himself for it. It's not supposed to be this way. His happiness and well-being are not supposed to depend on whether the boy with the golden hair and crooked smile wants him or not. 

 

His throat feels dry, so dry, and he can't bring himself to say anything. 

 

Marco saves them both more awkwardness and starts picking up his clothes again. "I have to go back," he starts, shuffling around the room, but Mario can't stand to look at him anymore.

 

"Yeah," he mutters, turning around on his feet and heading to the bathroom.

 

"Mario," he hears Marco say but he doesn't turn around to look at him, hurrying to hide in the confines of his hotel bathroom. 

 

He sinks to the ground as soon as he locks the door behind him, too numb to do anything but stare at the bathtub in front of him.

 

He doesn't know how long he remains like that, sitting on the floor of some hotel bathroom staring at nothing. He thinks he hears some soft knocking after a while, but he feels himself drifting away and cannot find the strength to ask who it is, let alone actually unlock the door. 

 

The last thing he remembers is the knocking coming to a stop and a door closing in the distance.

 

\-----

 

"Mario? Mario, open the door!"

 

He's startled out of his sleep, and it takes him about thirty seconds to take in his surroundings. He's still on his bathroom floor, where Marco left him god knows how long ago. He must've fallen asleep, and judging by the stiffness in his neck, it's been awhile.

 

"Mario, I swear to god if you don't open the door this second..."

 

He eyes widen as he takes in Thomas' panicked voice, and he wonders how long he's been knocking. He can imagine the horrible conclusions his teammate might have drawn, and he hurries to get up and let him in. His back cracks so loudly as he pushes himself off the floor that he wonders for a second if he might have broken a bone. He doesn't have time to dwell on that though, because the minute he opens the door Thomas is on him, clumsy fingers reaching for his neck before he finds his face buried in Thomas' bony chest.

 

"Thomas," he tries, his voice muffled as he struggles to push the taller man off.

 

"I thought you were dead!" Thomas cries dramatically, and Mario is tempted to laugh even as he attempts to break free because Thomas really needs to chill right now.

 

"Thomas!" He yells, finally managing to pry his friend off him. "I'm okay," he reassures him, reaching out for his face to make him look at him. "I just fell asleep." Another thought occurs to him as he takes in Thomas' worried state. "How long have you been knocking? And how the hell did you let yourself in?" 

 

"Marco gave me his key," Thomas replies hurriedly, finally pulling himself together and away from Mario before holding up the keycard in question. "Everyone's been in the lobby for over an hour, and when you didn't show up he told me to check up on you. He wouldn't say why, just gave me his key and told me to go see you."

 

"Marco," Mario whispers, and it's all coming back to him now. 

 

_Yeah, well, we don't have to worry about that anymore._

 

"Yeah," Thomas confirms, pulling him out of his thoughts."Did he do something to you? I've been knocking for about five minutes now. I started panicking sometime around the 58 seconds mark," he continues to ramble, and Mario feels bad for making him worry so much. 

 

Thomas might be a pain in the ass most of the time, but he just fucking cares so much that Mario has to stop and wonder what he did to deserve his kindness. They were never particularly close, but ever since his move to Munich, Thomas has latched on to him, a fierce protectiveness raging in him anytime Mario was concerned. 

 

"He just dropped by to pick up some of his clothes and we had an argument," Mario shrugs, wanting to believe that talking about Marco doesn't hurt him. "I'm sorry I made you worry, Mülli," he says, the apology sliding off his tongue quick and honest. Thomas doesn't say anything, but the deep sigh he lets out speaks for itself. 

 

Mario's heard that people who smile the most usually have the most pain to hide, and he can't help but wonder what's made Thomas into the man he is. He can see it sometimes, the frown lines deep and glaring, but the tall boy is always quick to hide it all behind a joke and a good laugh. 

 

"Did you say everyone's been down there for almost an hour?" Mario asks, suddenly realizing he's been asleep in the bathroom for god knows how long. 

 

"Yes!" Thomas confirms, his voice a little too loud. "Well, not everyone. It's well past 9 so the Dortmund and Schalke bunch are already gone, but our bus doesn't leave for another thirty minutes."

 

Mario feels his chest tighten again. Marco's gone. And he didn't get a chance to see him before he left. Maybe it's for the best. He's already sick of feeling like crap at the mere mention of Marco, and if he wants to move on, then maybe distance is a good thing. After all, it's much easier for Mario to convince himself that Marco's a bad guy when the blond's bright eyes are not on him and he can see his pictures all over the internet with Marcel and Pierre and Mats. It's easier to think he doesn't love him when the other man is not around to prove him wrong.

 

"Well, Pep will kill me if the bus is late because of me, so can you help me pack my things?" He asks Thomas, forcing himself to not think about green eyes and a yellow shirt anymore.

 

Thomas nods before exiting the bathroom. Mario brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face before following Thomas into the room. He doesn't have time to shave and take a proper shower, so this'll have to do for now. He starts throwing clothes into his bag when he realizes Marco's luggage is gone, but the Dortmund hoodie in still haphazardly thrown on the other bed. He stops for a second to look at it, but then throws another pair of sweats into the open duffel bag. He fishes out some socks from under the bed and tosses them after the pants before he gives up and moves to pick up the yellow garment. He folds it neatly and carefully, like it might break, before gently placing it in the bag. He's grateful when Thomas only nods in understanding before resuming to sweep the room clean of his discarded clothes.

 

\-----

 

"I've gotta make a call," Thomas states as soon as they're off the elevator. Mario nods, heading towards the seating area where he can see his teammates gathered.

 

They made it down to the lobby with ten minutes to spare.

 

He spots Manu and Holger talking animatedly on one of the couches and makes his way over to them. He's more than surprised, however, when he notices Mats sitting with Bastian on the couch facing them.

 

"Hey," he says when he's next to them, and all four of his teammates look up at him.

 

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Bastian greets him with a smile. "Rough night?" 

 

Mario scratches his growing stubble self-consciously, very much aware of his haggard state. He doesn't remember the last time he left the house without making sure his hair was on point and his clothes were perfectly matched. Right now though, his hair's a right mess, the longer locks sticking in all directions. The purple bruises under his eyes do nothing to help his appearance. He did manage to pull on a relatively clean pair of jeans, but his oversized hoodie and unlaced high tops only serve the emphasize his rather disheveled look.  

 

He's aware of what Bastian's implying. And on any other day, he would humor him. But if he needs to move on, he should probably avoid any situations that might put him and Marco in closed quarters, and if he wants to avoid rooming with him in the near future, then Basti needs to be made aware that his matchmaking is backfiring exponentially.

 

"Sort of," Mario shrugs, dropping down his duffel next to his carryon by one of the couches. "Marco woke me up at dawn when he came into the room to pick his stuff up. Caused a damn racket trying to pack his shit and go back to André's room."

 

"André's room?" Bastian asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. "He hasn't been staying with you?"

 

"Oh, that. No," Mario tries to sound casual, like the mere mention of Marco not wanting to share a room with him does not tear him apart. "He's been staying with André and Toni this entire week. Better for me, anyway, because he snores like a hyena." Okay, so maybe he's trying too hard to nip this thing in the bud, but he can't seem to stop talking. "Can you guys watch my bags for me?" He asks, trying to change lanes. "I need to use the bathroom before we get on the bus."

 

He doesn't wait for anyone to reply, storming towards the lobby bathrooms instead. The men's room is blissfully empty, and he takes a minute to take a deep breath and clear his head of Marco before he splashes some water on his face. He's towel drying when the door squeaks open and Mats walks in. Mission stop-fucking-thinking-about-Marco is proving to be a gigantic failure at this point.

 

Mario stops moving for a second, awkwardly standing in the middle of the bathroom and staring at the tall man. The fact that Mats is standing just as awkwardly near the door doesn't help. He's trying to come up with an excuse to flee before he remembers that he doesn't need to feel this weird. Friend of Marco's or not, he knows Mats inside out. He's braided Mats' hair, for fuck's sake. And no, he does not want to talk about that alcohol-induced encounter ever again, thank you very much. It's bad enough that there's video evidence of it somewhere on Nuri's phone.

 

"Aren't you supposed to be halfway on your way to Dortmund right now?" He asks, a little more aggressive than he means to. Thankfully, Mats doesn't seem to be phased, and he moves towards the sink to wash his hands.

 

"I've got a few meetings," his old teammate answers, squeezing some soap into his palm.

 

"Manchester?" Mario guesses, turning to lean back against the sink next to Mats. 

 

The latter nods at his reflection in the mirror before speaking again. "Their reps 'happened to be in town' and my manager's been pestering me about meeting with them."

 

"Are you gonna do it?" Mario asks without missing a beat. He knows he doesn't need to clarify his question.

 

"I don't know," Mats replies honestly, before towel drying his hands and turning back to lean against the sink much like Mario. "I mean Dortmund's not doing too great right now, but I'm not one to kick a puppy when it's down," he continues, letting out a troubled sigh. "Besides, there's other things to factor in."

 

"Like Benni?" Mario asks, lifting his head further up to look at Mats. His voice sounds pathetic and weak even to his own ears. This hits too close to home.

 

"Like Benni," Mats confirms, a smile briefly crossing his lips, and Mario feels an inexplicable surge of jealously burst through him. He wishes he can feel anything other than a gaping hole in his chest anytime he thinks of Marco. "You know, he didn't end it because you left," Mats speaks up after a while.

 

"Oh yeah?" Mario asks, a bitter edge to his voice. Talking about Marco right now is not something he wants to do, but he can't stop himself when he thinks of Marco's words from last night. "Then why did he end it?" 

 

"Because he forgave you for it," Mats says, and Mario looks at him like he's grown a third eye. "He knew, the minute he figured out that he didn't care that you walked out on him for a job, that he'd forgive you for anything you might do, no matter how grave."

 

"That's ridiculous, Mats."

 

"Almost as ridiculous as a boy scoring the winning goal of the final game of the fucking World Cup, and still remembering to lift his best friend's jersey in the celebration," Mats retorts before Mario can get another word in, and the younger boy feels his cheeks heat up. "I mean who fucking does that? You do realize that is essentially the mother of grand romantic gestures," Mats continues, side-eyeing Mario good-naturedly.

 

"Shut up," Mario lets out, chuckling lightly and blushing a deeper shade of red. "A lot of good that did me," he says after sobering up, a sad tone to his voice.

 

_I can't do this anymore._

"Because you gave up too fucking quickly," the tall man replies instantly. "I didn't take you for a quitter, but he sent you that text and you barely put up a fight. You let him walk away like the past two years meant nothing." Mario doesn't say anything, his eyes fixated on a spot on the ground, a crestfallen expression marring his features. He's not even remotely surprised that Mats knows exactly how Marco ended things with him. "I know you blame yourself and you think you got what you deserved, but that's not true."

 

Before Mario can say anything, the bathroom door is pushed open, and Manu's head pops in. 

 

"We're boarding the bus," he says in a small voice, like he knows he's interrupting but cannot stall anymore. 

 

Mario smiles at the goalkeeper before pushing himself off the sink. He hugs Mats briefly, whispering a quiet thank you in his ear.

 

"I'll see you this weekend," Mats whispers as he pulls away, a small smile gracing his lips.

 

Mario returns it before following Manu towards their bus.

 

He finds a seat towards the back of the bus and hopes to god no one will expect him to keep up a conversation. To his relief, Holger plumps down in the seat next to him before pulling out his earphones and getting comfortable on the seat. Mario reaches for the red blanket under his seat, tucking himself under it. He puts on his headphones and sets his iPod on shuffle before leaning his head against the window and trying not to think about have to go back to Dortmund in a few days for the game against Bayern. He's not ready to see Marco again.

 

\-----

 

He doesn't see Marco that weekend. He doesn't go to Dortmund at all.

 

He frets about it all week long, all sorts of scenarios forming in his head, ranging from Marco running up to him on the pitch in slow motion with arms wide open to Marco kneeing him in the balls before he's even said hello. 

 

In the end, he's tackled by Jerome a little too eagerly in the last training before their trip and is ruled out of the squad for injury. He's torn between wanting to kiss the tall dark defender and wanting to kill him. Truth is, while he was hesitant on the seeing Marco again front, he was definitely not looking forward to getting booed and jeered at from the home crowd. The last time, some douchebag followed him and Thomas into the parking lot shouting murder at him until Marco and Mats jumped out of the shadows with Dortmund security in tow, which was really lucky too because Thomas was this close to decking the guy. Mario, on the other hand, kept his indifferent facade immaculately in place until he got to Marco's place. Only then did he allow himself to finally break down.

 

On the day of the match, he sends a group message wishing his teammates good luck before he settles on his couch to watch the game, Fabian and Felix causing a racket in the kitchen as they rifle through his fridge and pantry for some snacks.

 

His hearts skips a beat when Marco appears on his screen. He swears he sees him scanning all the Bayern players as they make their way to the tunnel before the game, and a small hopeful voice in his head wonders if he's looking for him. Said voice is silenced phenomenally when Marco attacks Dante with a bear hug and the biggest smile on his face. A flicker of hope is rekindled, though, when Thomas walks up to Marco and pulls him in for a hug. They huddle together and start whispering seriously before Mats joins them, and Thomas points to his left knee before laying a hand on Marco's shoulder. Both the latter and Mats look a little paler now, and Mario glances briefly at his own bandaged knee, wondering if maybe he's just seeing what he wants to see.

 

The game is stressful if nothing else. A side full of injuries means that Bayern are far from their finest form, but Thomas still manages to nick one in past Roman right before halftime. Felix and Fabian cheer next to Mario, but he can't bring himself to join them when the camera pans on Marco as he makes his way to the dressing room, looking crestfallen and angry and Mario knows he'll blame himself if they lose.

 

They don't lose. Marco sends a magnificently long pass towards Pierre in the 67th minute, and the Gabonese only has to toe it with his left boot before it's sailing past Manu. Mario looks away from his screen when Marco jumps into Pierre's waiting arms, trying not to think of a time when those lingering hugs and affectionate pats on the back were reserved for him. Bayern's defense is faltering, while Mats and Neven seem to be more in control than ever. Marco steals the show again when Dante slips up near the penalty area, easily allowing the blond to intercept his pass. Marco does quick work of fielding Holger before he lets the shot sail into the net in the 88th minute. He runs towards Klopp this time, who does everything short of carrying Marco on his back and declaring him king of the world. 

 

Mario wants to be sad that his team lost, but he's accepted the fact that his happiness pathetically depends on Marco's and has for the past two years, so when he sees Marco walking next to Mats, water bottle in hand and the biggest smile on his face, he can't help but grin himself.

 

"You're pathetic," Felix snorts to his left before throwing a now stale popcorn at him. 

 

"Shut up," Mario replies lamely, proving his brother's point further when he feels himself start blushing.

 

\-----

 

A few weeks pass by, and while Mario's not exactly on cloud nine, he's managing. He still misses Marco and the ache in his heart never really goes away, but he's learning to live with it. Or so he thinks.

 

He's sitting on his couch, having just returned from physio when his phone rings. His eyebrows disappear into his hairline when he sees it's Melanie calling. He feels dread pool at the pit of his stomach, a wave of nausea hitting him. Why would Marco's sister be calling him? What if something's wrong with Marco?

 

"Hello?" He answers, a panicked edge to his voice.

 

"Hey Mario!" Melanie's warm, cheerful voice comes on the other line, and he feels himself relax. She can't be that happy if something's wrong with her brother.

 

"Melanie," he stutters out, still slightly nervous. "Hey." A beat. "Is everything alright?"

 

"Oh god," Melanie retorts, and Mario knows from the tone of her voice that she's rolling her eyes right now. "Yes, everything's fine. Just because I don't call as often as I should, doesn't mean I only call when shit's hit the fan! Jesus, you're just as paranoid as Marco. No wonder you're his boyfriend."

 

_What? What did she just-_

 

"Anyway, I can't speak for long, hot stuff, but I wanted to let you know that we're throwing mom and dad a surprise anniversary shindig in two weeks, and I know you're a world-famous-footballer who has better things to do than attend old people's family affairs, but I'm sure they would love it if you could be there and-"

 

"Wait, Mel, hold up," Mario interrupts, having a really hard time believing his ears. "Have you talked to Marco about this?"

 

"Of course I have," Melanie replies. "He said you wouldn't want to be there because you're too shy to crash a family occasion, but come on Mario, you're more family than any of us. You fucking stole any and all attention away from us the day you sauntered into our house with your chubby cheeks and that damn bottle of whiskey. I still don't know how you knew he'd like it, but I'm pretty sure dad is going to ask for the bottle to be buried with him or something." 

 

Mario can't help but smile fondly at the memory of the first time he officially met the Reus clan. He'd been at the house for less than twenty minutes when Melanie outed him and Marco. He remembers everyone going quiet for half a second before three things happened at once: Marco's mom shrugged stating that anyone was an upgrade from Marco's senior year girlfriend, Ivy handed him Nico urging the then two-year-old to "bond with your uncle's gay boyfriend" before running off to the other room, and Marco's dad declared Mario's present as his soulmate. And that was that, really.

 

"Anyway, the point is, I know they'd really love it if you'd come."

 

And, yeah, okay, Marco knows him too fucking well because that is exactly what his answer would be if he'd asked him, but the point is he didn't ask him, because they're broken up for fuck's sake. So why does Melanie not know that?

 

"Um, okay. Marco doesn't know you're calling me, right?" He asks stupidly, because he has to check.

 

"Of course not," Melanie snorts. "He'll kill me for trying to corner his precious Sunny, but whatever, it's his own damn fault mom and dad love you so much."

 

Mario feels a rush of warmth travel through his body, realizing the full weight of the conversation.

 

"I," he starts, unsure of how to go on. "I can't make any promises, but I'll try."

 

"That's all I needed to hear," Melanie replies and he can hear her smile in her voice. "Anyway, I've gotta run oh small chubby one, but I'll hopefully see you in a couple of weeks?"

 

"Yeah," Mario nods his head even though she can't see him. "Thanks for the call, Mel. Say hi to Ivy for me?"

 

"I will. But I wouldn't call her if I were you, not if you're not planning to visit anytime soon. You see, Nico's been making her buy pretzels day in and day out ever since he tried them with you. Says he wants to make sure there's always some at home 'in case Uncle Marco's Sunny drops by.' I, personally, find it hella cute. Yvonne, naturally, hates your guts."

 

Mario's grin is so wide now, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He forgot what he was giving up the day he decided to give Marco the space he needed.

 

"I'll make sure to drop by soon, then," he manages to let out, a chuckle escaping his mouth.

 

"Yes, definitely do that. I'll talk to you later, Götze."

 

"Bye, Mel."

 

And that's all it takes, really, for him to grab his keys off the counter and hop into his car.

 

\-----

 

In retrospect, taking a six-hour-drive when he's still recovering from a serious knee injury and on an empty stomach is not Mario's smartest decision. But Mario is nothing if not an eternal optimist, so he stops by the first supermarket he finds and buys snacks that would be considered too much for a family of five. The weather is nice so he rolls his windows down, enjoying the breeze, the sun shining down on him. He doesn't let himself think about what he's doing right now, driving across the country to see his maybe-ex. The possibility that Marco will kick him out of his house is very real, but Mario cannot think like that. He turns the music up instead, bobbing his head along while stuffing his face with cheese puffs. He probably shouldn't, as he's gotta stay in shape, but if he's taking a road trip, then he's going to treat himself to a real road trip, weight watching be damned.

 

He makes it to Dortmund by sunset. He spots Marco's Jeep and Aston Martin in the driveway, but there are a few more cars he doesn't recognize. He knows they're definitely not Marco's though, because you can't exactly buy a new car when the entire world knows you don't have a driver's license, can you?

 

He gets out of the car and limps his way to the front door, only stopping to check his reflection in one of the shiny cars. He's wearing black cotton shorts with white high tops and a black hoodie, and wow, he really did not think this through, did he? He's just about to turn and run away from this horrible idea when the front door opens and he finds himself face to face with a wide-eyed Mats.

 

"Mario?" Mats finally stutters after a few moments. He smiles at him and Mario feels his palms sweating.

 

"Hey Mats," he finally says, fidgeting nervously on his feet but smiling back at his friend.

 

"Hey Matsi, who are you talking to out h-"

 

Mario feels himself go weak when he hears his voice, blood pumping in his ears. He pales even more when Marco finally rounds the hallway corner and stops dead in his tracks, his words dying on his tongue having finally spotted him.

 

He looks so good, Mario wants to cry. His blond hair is done to perfection, and those black skinnies and white thin cotton t-shirt look like they were made for him. Mario's all too aware of his own disheveled state, and it's so fucking unfair that Marco looks so perfectly put together when he himself feels like he's breaking apart and crumbling at the seams.

 

Marco opens and closes his mouth a few times, not unlike a fish out of water, and Mario wants to laugh because that's exactly how he feels right now.

 

"What are you doing here?" Mats finally asks, the question on everyone's minds.

 

 _What is he doing here_? He's not really sure he knows.

 

He's saved the trouble of finding an answer when Marcel struts down the stairs, wearing Marco's shirt. A shirt Mario got him during one of his random shopping trips with Ann. It was meant to be a joke, the words "This Side Up" in block letters on the front with a big skyward pointing arrow. 

 

"Hey Woody, I hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt," Marcel announces on his way over to them before he notices Mario standing in the doorway. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you had company. Hey Mario," he waves at him, like the fact that Mario just drove six hours to see Marco is an everyday occurrence.

 

 _It used to be_ , a small voice supplies in Mario's head. 

 

"Mario?" Mats repeats his name, Marco still standing like a statue a few feet behind him.

 

"Hey Marcel," Mario finally manages to say, waving at Marco's friend. 

 

His eyes travel to Marco who still looks like he's seen a ghost, and he finally can't take it anymore.

 

"I'm sorry," he stutters, turning clumsily on his feet. "I'm just going to..." He doesn't continue, pointing vaguely towards the driveway before he starts limping his way down the front steps.

 

He's almost at his car when Marco runs after him.

 

"Wait, Sunny. Mario!" Marco half yells and Mario turns in time to see him stop right in front of him. "Where are you going?"

 

"I don't know," Mario replies, frustration evident in his voice. He shouldn't have come. "Back to Munich, probably."

 

"Wait, did you just drive all the way here from Munich?" Marco asks, an incredulous look on his face, and Mario feels himself getting more flustered when Marco takes in his state, bandaged knee and all.

 

"Yes," he nods, angry at himself now. This was such a stupid idea. "And now I'm going back," he mutters, turning to continue his way over to his car.

 

"So you just drove all the way to Dortmund just so you can go back?"

 

"Yes," Mario grits through his teeth. He's tired and cranky and his knee hurts like hell and he just wants to lie down. "And now I'm leaving."

 

"Like hell you are!" Marco snaps at him, tugging harshly on his elbow just as he's about to unlock his door. "You've done that too many fucking times already," he continues, yelling louder at him, and it's been so long since he's seen Marco that Mario realizes with a touch of hysteria that somewhere, in the back of his mind, he's missed even this. Getting low-blowed in the middle of Marco's driveway is something he's actually missed. _Oh dear_.

 

"Why didn't you tell your family that we're over?" Mario snaps back at him, jumping to the point because he's just so fucking tired. 

 

He sees Marco pale significantly, which is a feat in itself considering the boy's skin tone resembles that of the undead. 

 

"What?" He asks, letting go of his elbow, and Mario has to lean against his car to take some pressure off his injured leg.

 

"Melanie called. She wants me to go to your parents' surprise anniversary party. Their fucking anniversary, Marco! Which apparently I don't want to attend because I'm too shy to crash a family celebration," he continues, staring Marco right in the eye.

 

"Aren't you?" Marco challenges, his crooked grin making an appearance.

 

Mario doesn't know how to answer for a second, frustration washing over him once again at Marco's look. _Damn know-it-all with his fucking cute dimples and that fucking half-smirk_. "That's beside the point!" He finally babbles, tempted to smack the smile off Marco's face. "You don't want me anymore, Marco," Mario continues, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He just wants to fold himself in Marco's arms and forget about everything else. But that's pretty much the last thing he can do right now. "So why can't you just tell your parents that?"

 

"Because it's not true," Marco admits, all hints of a smile gone, his face dark and serious, and Mario feels his world grow a little dimmer despite the confession. "I never stopped wanting you." 

 

"But you don't trust me to not hurt you," Mario guesses, Mats' words coming back to him.

 

"You've already hurt me, Sunny."

 

And okay, wow, this right there is worse than anything else, because Mario would chop his own leg off before he tries to intentionally hurt Marco.

 

"I know," he says, low and sad and desperate. His eyes dart up to look at Marco's face, and he feels his heart cease at the crease between his eyes and the crestfallen look on his face. "And for that, I can never be sorry enough."

 

"It's not that you left, Mario," Marco starts, looking everywhere but at him. "I can understand that now. It's just that it seemed like what we had wasn't even a factor in your decision."

 

"Are you kidding me?" Mario asks, a choked up laugh escaping his lips, and he feels himself emboldened enough to reach for Marco's fingers. The hole in his chest grows smaller when the blond not only hooks their fingers together, but also finally really looks at him. "Us," Mario starts again, " _You_. You were the _biggest_ factor in my decision. I wouldn't have gone to Bayern if I wasn't sure you'd always be there for me," he tries to explain, frustrated at his inability to put into words what he really feels. "It's coming out all wrong like I took you for granted, but that's not it at all. I just wouldn't have gone if I didn't know we'd always be together, because as fucking cheesy as it sounds, you're a part of me, Marco."

 

Silence engulfs them for a minute, neither of them saying anything, their fingers linked together in the middle of Marco's driveway. 

 

"Fucking hell, you are such a girl sometimes, Götze," Marco finally says, and if the smile on his face is anything to go by, that fact doesn't bother him at all.

 

"Shut up," Mario laughs along, his lame try at a witty response, aiming to punch him with his free hand, losing his balance in the process and almost falling flat on his face instead.

 

Marco's reflexes kick in and before he knows it, Mario's back is pressed to his car, chest to chest with Marco who has a tight hold on him. He winces when he feels some pressure on his bad leg, and Marco takes a step back immediately.

 

"Oh shit," the taller boy panics. "I forgot about your knee. We should get inside bef-"

 

"There's just one thing I gotta do first," Mario interrupts before grabbing Marco by the front of his shirt and pulling him down towards him.

 

Their lips meet clumsily at first, neither really prepared but both more than hungry for it, and then flesh memory kicks in and before they know it they're nipping and sucking at each other's mouths, licking their way in and finally tasting one another after so long. They pull away only when Mario feels himself dizzy with the need to breathe, and he rests his forehead against Marco's as they both gasp for air, eyes closed and hands in each other's hair. When he finally opens his eyes, Marco's green ones are on him, taking in every inch of his face, and Mario feels the flush creeping up his neck to color his cheeks. 

 

Marco smiles at him, his thumb coming up to brush his jaw lightly.

 

"Oh, Sunny. There's very few things I've missed more than this."

 

"Now who's being a girl?"

 

\-----

 

It takes them another ten minutes before they finally turn to go inside.

 

They're walking up the driveway carefully, Marco's arm around Mario's waist to help him relieve some of the pressure off his bad knee, and the latter can't wipe the smile off his face. When he sneaks another glance at the boy next to him, he's relieved to see it's very much the same thing for him. Marco meets his eyes for a second before leaning down and pressing a feathery kiss to his neck. Mario feels his eyes roll back into his head because it's been too fucking long, but his particular train of thought is interrupted when his phone comes alive in his front pocket.

 

They stop walking right by the front door, which is closed again - thank God for Mats and his sense to give them some privacy - and Mario fishes the device out of his pocket, only to find a drunk looking Thomas staring back at him on his phone screen. Somewhere between relishing the feel of Marco's arm around him and trying to remember when exactly he took Thomas' contact picture, he realizes the full weight of what he's just done. Nobody even knows he's in Dortmund right now.

 

"Hey Mülli," he greets as he presses his phone to his ear. Marco takes the opportunity to stand in front of him and loop his other arm around his waist.

 

"Munchkin, where are you?" Thomas asks and Mario can hear some noise in the background. "The game's about to start."

 

"Game?" Mario manages to let out, trying to focus on Thomas' voice when Marco's fingers are roaming dangerously close to his waistband. The innocent look on the blond's face tells Mario the bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

 

"Schalke against Wolfsburg," Thomas explains. "I know you're injured, dude, but have you been living under a rock? We've been talking about nothing else for the past week. We're all at Manu's already, but I can come pick you up if you want."

 

 _Oh, fuck_. He completely forgot about that. And shit, Marco's fingers are teasing his lower back right now, and Mario feels himself unconsciously gravitate closer to him. 

 

"I'm in Dortmund," Mario manages to say, trying very hard not to moan when Marco's lips find his neck again. He tries to push the other boy off but ends up hooking his fingers into his collar and pulling him closer instead.

 

"Dortmund?!" Thomas half shrieks but Mario can't concentrate hard enough when Marco's lips are teasing that spot under his ear. "Oh my god," he adds too happy for his own good, "did you and Marco finally get your shit together?"

 

"Yes Tommy," Marco barks impatiently into the phone, prying it out of Mario's fingers. "Can we make out in peace now?"

 

Mario swears he hears Thomas laugh on the other line but he's rather quickly distracted when Marco presses the disconnect button and pushes the phone into his pocket before attacking his lips with his own again. It's at that moment that the front door opens again, and Mario can't help the groan that escapes his throat when Marco pulls away again, the latter's annoyed look telling Mario he feels exactly the same, but they both let go, aware that they've lost the battle.

 

"Ugh, you're back to this now?" Mats says crinkling his nose in disgust. "I liked it better when you were fighting."

 

The teasing smile that takes hold of the tall defender's face tells Mario it's anything but the truth and before he knows it, Mats' arms are around him in what can only be called a bear hug.

 

"Stop making the rest of us look bad with your grand romantic gestures, man," Mats whispers in his ear and Mario can't stop himself from barking a giddy laugh at that.

 

"Easy now," Marco whispers when Mats finally puts him back down, immediately helping him straighten up without upsetting his knee even further.

 

A look of understanding registers on the defender's face, and before Mario knows it, Mats and Marco are on either side of him, helping him into the house and towards the living room where he finds half the Dortmund team along with Marcel and Robin huddled around the television. They help him settle on the couch next to Pierre of all people, before Nuri, Ilkay and Neven come up to greet him. 

 

Marco disappears into the kitchen and comes back with an ice pack which he promptly drops in Mario's lap before grabbing a few pillows and propping his foot up the table. He disappears outside the living room again and Mario struggles to straighten up and apply the ice pack to his knee, when Pierre suddenly grabs it out of his hands. 

 

"Here, let me help," the Gabonese says, sending Mario a smile that he returns shyly.

 

"Thanks, man," he whispers nodding gratefully, and he can't help but drop his head back a little, enjoying the relief of not having to stand on his injured leg anymore. 

 

Pierre applies the pack carefully on his knee, propping it up and leaving it in place when he's sure it won't fall, before he leans back on the couch next to Mario.

 

"So, who are you rooting for tonight?" Pierre asks and Mario turns to look at him. 

 

"If I say anyone other than Benni, Mats will skin me alive," he shrugs, and Pierre lets out a chuckle. "Besides, I'm sort of pissed at André and Wolfsburg losing means the gap between us and them will remain at seven points which suits me just fine."

 

"Please, Marco talks about you all the time, so I'm trying to forget that you play for those damn prissy rich idiots in red and actually make an effort to be your friend," Pierre says honestly, wrinkling his nose in disgust much like Mats did before, and Mario can't help but laugh a little. "Could you maybe not remind me that you play for those damn prissy rich idiots so that I can carry out my mission successfully?"

 

"I'll try not to," Mario nods, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

 

"But yes, André is not my favorite person either," Pierre continues. "He kept looking at me really weird the last time he was in town and threatened to unleash his inner Joker on my ass. Weird ass little punk," Pierre mutters a little too loud.

 

Mario snorts rather unattractively at that. He's always sensed that André was a little gay for Marco. He would be on that like a train on rails if not for Montana.

 

"That, my friend, is why you and I will get along just fine. And if it makes you feel better, I thought the Batman Robin thing was kinda awesome," Mario says, and he's not surprised to find he honestly means it.

 

"Yeah, Marco said you would," Pierre fistbumps him, and Mario can tell he's going to like the forward.

 

It's at that moment that Marco comes back with Kevin, Shinji, and Schmelle in tow. Shinji squeals in delight when he spots Mario, his infectious laugh ringing around the room as he leans down to hug his old teammate, and Kevin nearly starts wailing, almost knocking down Mario's foot in his haste to reach him. 

 

Marco shoos them away after a few minutes, taking a seat on Mario's other side before handing him and Pierre beers. 

 

He sneaks a kiss to Mario's cheek when he thinks no one is looking, but Marcel calls them out on it and Mario feels himself blushing.

 

"You know, for a straight man, you're sucking on that beer a little too inappropriately," Marco throws at Marcel and Robin barks out laugh. "And if you get one drop on my shirt, I will kill you," he threatens seriously, pointing at the shirt Marcel's wearing.

 

Marco keeps an arm around Mario the entire night. He doesn't remember the last time he felt so content. 

 

Schalke end up winning three goals to one, but the victory isn't as sweet when André nets one in at the last second. 

 

"Lucky bastard," Pierre mutters next to Mario who shrugs in agreement before they both turn to glare at Marco who's cheering for his friend.

 

\-----

 

Mario wakes up the next day to a mouthful of blond hair and white sheets rumpled around his thighs. It takes him only a second to remember where he is and his grip tightens on Marco's waist when he does, burying his face further in the back of his neck. His boyfriend hums peacefully, turning in his arms so that he's facing him and throwing an arm around Mario's waist to pull him even closer. Mario buries his face in Marco's collarbone instead, tracing it faintly with his nose, and the last thing he feels before sleep takes over him once again is a pair of lips in his hair.

 


End file.
